


Birthday Cake

by shipsanddip



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Nipple Play, Sexual Content, Very light pain play, Wax
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:28:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipsanddip/pseuds/shipsanddip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles knows what he wants for his birthday. He just never expected Derek to comply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laurasatin](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=laurasatin).



> Written for the kickass [laurasatin](http://laurasatin.tumblr.com/) who asked for bondage and wax play in celebration of her birthday. Check her out on tumblr, she's amazing.
> 
> Thought up, written and edited at 3-5 am in the morning. On three glasses of wine. FOR GREAT SUCCESS!
> 
> I apologize in advance for the overzealous use of italics. And the sap.

Stiles would pinch himself if he could because he really _really_ can’t believe this is happening.  Trying to pinch anything with his hands tied to the bedframe is kind of impossible though. Still, he can’t resist testing the give of the black silk around his wrists again. The slide of the fabric against his skin makes his breath hitch in his throat. They’re pretty loose, Derek had muttered something about circulation as he tied him up but Stiles isn’t complaining.

Fuck no, Stiles is _not_ complaining.

He glances around his room, wanting to remember this moment, burn it into his memory for future reference (involving his spank bank). The window is halfway open and the breeze is just this side of cold against his chest.  Being stark naked with only a blanket thrown haphazardly across his waist should be more nerve-wracking than it is; what with all his wall-scaling friends and their complete disregard for anyone’s, much less his, privacy. But at this point not even Scott poking his head through the window is going to flag down his hard-on. It might scar him permanently but it’s not going to take him out of action.

After all, it’s his birthday. Birthday sex is imminent, in fact it’s happening and his smile must look ridiculous. Like _disgustingly_ giddy.

It hadn’t been a serious request, more a spur of the moment thing that doesn’t count due to extenuating circumstances. The extenuating circumstances being Stiles’ partiality for dirty talk. Which was rampant during the set up of round two on Friday night a couple of weeks ago. He may or may not have said something about nipple play, being tied up and how he’d beg for Derek to take him.

Bound, aching and helpless.

That had gotten him folded in half and fucked; fucked until biting down on Derek’s shoulder was the only way he could avoid waking up every living thing within a 2 mile radius of his house.  Afterwards, Derek had littered kisses all along his throat and asked if Stiles really meant the things he’d been talking about. And Stiles had answered, _Uh_ _fuck yes_. It was the only thinkable reply to however many of his kinks Derek was comfortable with.

Derek hadn’t brought it up again though and dealing with another pack trespassing on their territory made Stiles forget about it. Until Derek stripped Stiles of every scrap of clothing and produced the silk ties five minutes ago, with a soft ‘Happy Birthday’ against his lips.

“Yes,” Stiles can’t help but muse out loud, unrepentant about the smugness in his voice which is probably reaching astronomical levels and that Derek no doubt can hear from wherever he is downstairs, “Happy freakin’ Birthday to me.”

A dim glow across the hall catches his eyes as it travels up the wall along the staircase. Derek’s feet make soft thuds against the floor only because he wants Stiles to hear him and Stiles can’t stop himself squirming in anticipation. They haven’t even done anything yet, only some kissing (albeit frantic on Stiles’ part) and he’s already breaking out into a sweat.

When Derek comes into full view in the doorway, Stiles has to blink twice because this is not actually happening. Derek is… he’s _not_ … he is carrying a plate with a cake on it. An honest to God birthday cake. That looks homemade. With candles.

_What?_

“Did you make that? Like, by yourself? With your hands?”

Derek’s annoyance is immediately plastered all over his face, except for the tips of his ears, which are turning a lovely, bright pink.

“Oh my god, you did. You really did. You iced it yourself and everything, how much time did you…”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

There’s a hidden but not insubstantial amount of embarrassment mixed up with the prickly irritation in Derek’s voice. Stiles is a master at picking it out by now so he breaks out into a big smile, licking his lips slowly as Derek steps into the room.

“Are you going to let me taste it?”

It’s barely a whisper but Derek’s eyes shift immediately to his lips and Stiles has to raise his hips off the bed, has to rub his cock against the blanket for even the slightest bit of friction because hot damn.

Derek sits down on the edge of the bed and awkwardly holds the plate up so Stiles can see. The cake looks like it’s double double extra chocolate everything, which happens to be just how Stiles likes it. It even has “Happy Birthday Stiles” on it in blue icing, the writing a bit wonky but nowhere near qualifying for cakewrecks.com. Stiles kinda loves it. The candles are the number kind, a chunky looking 1 and an 8, with a set of regular ones around the edge. The light casts an amber glow over Derek’s face, his eyes dark and flitting back and forth between Stiles and the cake. He looks a bit agitated and mostly flustered and while Stiles appreciates the cake, he’s ready to get on with the rest of the birthday celebrations. Immediately. Preferably sooner.

“Should I blow them out?”

“Not yet.”

Stiles tilts his head, confused and so very horny.

“Okay… why not?”

“Because we’re going to use them.”

“Oh… _oh_. Oh, fuck yes, use them, that’s a brilliant idea, god, Derek…”

Stiles is pulling against the ties now, wanting feverishly to touch Derek, any part of Derek, with his lips and tongue and just push and sink his appreciation into Derek’s skin. Derek leans over Stiles and gingerly puts the cake on the bedside table. Making contact for the first time, Derek places his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and pushes him firmly back against the pillows, earning himself a disgruntled huff in the process.

Arching an eyebrow, Derek demonstrably pulls a finger through the frosting of the cake, all the way down the side and Stiles’ eyes are transfixed as the creamy chocolate gathers and sticks to Derek’s skin. Straddling Stiles’ thighs, Derek towers over him as he brings the finger up to Stiles’ lips; it’s just out of reach but near enough that Stiles can taste chocolate on his breath. Derek’s eyes are hazel gold in the light from the candles and Stiles can’t look away. His body strives up towards Derek, but he’s bound, he’s tied up and Derek’s hand is still on his shoulder.

“Make a wish,” Derek says, voice raspy in a way that means he wants to watch Stiles lick the chocolate off just as badly as Stiles wants to do it.

“Not to go all Molly Ringwald here, but it already came true. Big time. So, if you could just…”

Stiles doesn’t get to finish the sentence, his mouth suddenly full of surprisingly good chocolate frosting and Jesus fuck, Derek’s finger. Stiles sucks along the first knuckle, tongue teasing against the sides. Derek’s breathing is heavy, wet against Stiles’ throat and his left hand moves from Stiles’ shoulder to his hip in order to stop Stiles from rutting up against him. Which, son of a bitch, he really isn’t into giving Stiles a whole lot of options here. Stiles can’t resist a shudder.

Pulling his finger out, Derek takes another swipe at the cake, this time spreading the icing along Stiles’ lips. Before Stiles can lick it off, Derek gets there first, tracing his tongue along the smudges and chasing the taste into Stiles’ mouth. The kiss is messy, fucking _dirty_ , Derek’s tongue pushing languidly against Stiles’ own, tugging moan after heady moan from Stiles’ mouth.

More frosting, this time it ends up smeared against his throat and Stiles arches, presenting his neck eagerly to Derek who bends down and sucks along the trail. He takes his time leaving what will probably be spectacular hickeys in the morning but Stiles can’t find it in himself to care.

“Fuck, please Derek, please, it’s so good…”

Another swipe at the cake and Derek’s hand is moving along his collarbone, tongue following, dipping into every hollow and cranny to seek out the chocolate. When he starts circling Stiles’ right nipple, ‘round and ‘round again, Stiles has to bite down on his lower lip. He’s pulling against the ties, panting. The silk is keeping him just out of reach of what he wants, always at the cusp and edge of longing and it’s driving him crazy. When Derek sucks his nipple into his mouth, he cries out softly, his entire body bow-like and tense.

“Oh **God** , Derek…”

Derek worries his nipple with his teeth before changing sides, eyes still gazing straight into Stiles’ own, even as Stiles struggles to keep them open. Leaning back, Derek blows against his wet skin and smiles as Stiles shudders. Moving slowly and pointedly keeping eye contact, Derek plucks the number 8 from the birthday cake. His hand stops just shy of Stiles’ chest, eyes searching.

“Fuuuuck, Derek, do it, do it, come on…”

He’s always loved it, from the get go. Derek rolling his nipples between his fingers, pulling, sucking, biting. Loves it when the hint of a claw puts all his senses on edge and there’s an electric spike of pain to go with his pleasure. Stiles just knows this is going to be awesome.

“I want it Derek, please…”

Derek tilts the candle slightly, gaze flicking between Stiles’ nipple and his eyes as the hot wax drops, painting Stiles’ skin. He hisses at the burn, oh god the heat, _the_ _burn_ , writhing against it. Biting his lower lip, he rides out the sting as it blossoms into pleasure, the wax blooming opaque against his skin. It hits again and again, fanning out at impact, searing most at the edges where the contrast is sharpest. Fuck, Stiles can’t keep his hips from canting upwards and Derek must know, must _smell_ how much he likes this, loves this.

And yeah, apparently he does because the blanket is somewhere across the room before Stiles can blink and his brain can register the movement. Derek’s leaning down to pull his teeth along his abs, eyes still on the candle as it continues to drip wax over Stiles’ chest. His right hand shifts towards the cake, three fingers digging into the side. He drags his fingers down the length of Stiles’ cock, leaving blobs and smears of chocolate in their wake. Stiles arches, tenses all over as Derek blows cool air over the head of his cock and then covers it with his mouth, lips catching at the edge.

“Fuck, Derek!”

His skin is throbbing underneath the dripping, hardening wax, the double heat of pain and pleasure making him sweat and his chest heave. He can’t take his eyes away from the point where he ends and Derek begins, lips wrapped tightly around Stiles’ cock. It’s too much and just not nearly enough at the same time, as Derek starts to bob his head up and down, pulling noises from Stiles that should be embarrassing but makes Derek hum low in his throat and god, if that isn’t fantastic. Derek puts the candle out with his fingers, tosses it aside and Stiles would feel a bit sad about it if he wasn’t having his sanity wrenched from his mind.

And then, then there’s a claw and Stiles can’t think, can’t tear his eyes away. It runs up along his stomach and turns big circles around his pec, smaller and smaller until finally, _finally_ , it’s running along the edge of the wax. When it starts to pick at the wax, pulling at the sore skin, Stiles loses all control. Derek lets him.

He all but trashes against the silk ties, wanting to bury his fingers in Derek’s hair as he fucks into his mouth. All he can do now is piston his hips up frantically in search of release, but it’s still Derek that sets the pace, Derek that calls the shots. It makes him feel raw and vulnerable and so fucking well cared for that he chokes on the emotion, moan after moan stumbling from his lips as Derek sucks his cock and moves with his thrusts. He’s so close now, almost there and Derek knows because the claw pulls down along his chest, all sharp promises.

“I’m… fucking Christ, I’m coming, please Derek, please, I’m…”

Derek reaches out for his hand, anchoring Stiles as the point of the claw lends just the right amount pain to his undoing. He whites out, just along the edge of vision as his back arches in a bow and he comes down Derek’s throat, a sob forced from his own.

His hips stutter, once, twice and then his bones turn to lead.  Sinking back against the mattress, he tries to reign in his shallow breathing; eyes gazing half shut as Derek snicks the silk ties from his wrists. He uses his new won freedom to pull Derek up and in, groaning at the taste of himself and chocolate icing on Derek’s lips.

“That. was. absolutely. amazing,” he pants out between kisses, happy and delirious as Derek pulls his hands down his sides, a small smile pillowed in Stiles’ neck. There are soothing noises that Derek will never admit to later, helping to bring Stiles down from his high and fingers splaying ever so gently over red skin.

“There’s more to come… if you’re up for it?”

Stiles looks at him like he’s from Mars.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I am. Most definitely. More of that. I just need a minute and then maybe, I mean if it’s on the table and if we can still use the ties, cause they are brilliant, like woah, and I really, really would like for you to ride…”

Derek’s eyes roll, apparently seriously questioning his involvement with the rambling idiot underneath him. Incredibly, his gaze is soft when it comes back down. Stiles still ends up with a fat piece of cake in his mouth though and it shuts him up. For now.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, concrit welcome! Also, five house points if you can tell me which John Hughes movie is being referenced.


End file.
